


Long Road Home

by Pissenlit



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Emetophilia, M/M, Non-Sexual, Scat, Sickfic, Vomiting, messing, puking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:33:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23370994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pissenlit/pseuds/Pissenlit
Summary: Arthur gets very sick, but Dutch is there to help with the aftermath.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	Long Road Home

**Author's Note:**

> Some self indulgent writing.
> 
> There's vomit and shit.

Saint Denis had never had much appeal to Arthur. He couldn’t quite articulate his feelings on why he didn’t like the city, Dutch was better at expressing his grievances with modern society’s shortcomings. All Arthur knew was that the city was too big, too crowded, and inhuman.

It had been a hassle riding into the humid city, the streets were clogged with pedestrians and more stagecoaches than he typically would see in a month, all moving at a crawl that was made worse by intersecting with tramcars. The congested streets delayed Arthur a solid twenty minutes from the time he was supposed to meet Hosea at the Bastille Saloon.

With his horse hitched up, he stepped into the lavish saloon and suddenly felt out of place. He knew right away that everyone in the room was better educated and better dressed than him, not that he envied them in their extra layers of heavy clothes in the southern heat.

“Ah, Arthur! There you are, my boy! I was beginning to think you weren’t coming!” Hosea got up from a nearby table and came to greet him with a smile, offering him an amiable clap on the shoulder. He lowered his voice, whispering near Arthur’s ear. “Did you bring it?”

“I didn’t figure it would take so long to get around.” Arthur looked to the lady in Hosea’s company and gave her a curt nod as he was greeted, answering Hosea’s question at the same time. He wasn’t fond of putting on an act for anyone’s schemes. It was too difficult to keep all of the lies straight in his mind and even he knew how forced his acting sounded. 

“Yes, well, everything about this entire city is slow and boring, so you might as well get used to it, cowboy.” The lady took a drag from her cigarette holder. “I’m Lillian Powell. Have you heard of me?”

“I can’t say that I have, ma’am.” Arthur begrudgingly took a seat at the table, already longing to leave the suffocating heat of the saloon and the city.

“Oh, but of course he hasn’t, Miss Lillian. Arthur here is a bit slow, but he’s a good man.”

“I see. Well does your luddite have my cocaine or not?”

Arthur didn’t mind having his intelligence insulted, but he was surprised by the woman’s blunt demand.

“Yes, all things in due time, Miss Lillian. Why don’t we all have a drink? Arthur, you must be hungry, aren’t you? You simply must try the lobster bisque.” Hosea was good at smoothing over tense situations, and this was no exception. “What can Arthur here get you to drink, Miss Lillian?”

“Whiskey will do just fine.”

“Sure.” Arthur wasn’t thrilled with Hosea volunteering him to buy drinks, but it would be a welcome escape from their conversing. Getting up from the table, he slowly meandered through the crowded room to the bar.

“What can I do for you?”

“I’d like some soup. Uh, the lobster bisque, please. And two whiskeys.” Arthur laid down his money, resisting the urge to complain about how expensive everything was in Saint Denis.

“Coming right up.”

Arthur took his shot right away, hoping the strong alcohol would make listening to Hosea and Lillian more tolerable. With his bisque in one hand and Lillian’s drink in the other he made his way back to his seat.

“Here’s your whiskey, ma’am.”

“Please, call me Miss Powell. I’m not old enough to be ‘ma’am’ yet.” She laughed and took the shot just as easily as Arthur had, accustomed to the fiery taste.

Bisque was all the distraction Arthur needed from Lillian and Hosea, and provided him a good enough reason to stay out of whatever con was afoot. The bowl of soup was delicious, but it also served to make Arthur feel even warmer than he already was, something that was worsened by the whiskey in his system.

“Enough blithering. Your man has had his soup, I want my cocaine, Mr. Matthews.” Lillian had been watching Arthur eat and waited only long enough for him to set his spoon down to make her demand.

Tired of whatever game was being played, Arthur reached into his bag and removed a small tin with no further ado. “Here, ma’am.”

“Miss Powell.” She corrected him.

“Right.” Arthur didn’t know why she couldn’t find the drug on her own in the big city, but he didn’t care to ask why. He got up and cleared his dishes, eager for another respite from his company. Once he returned he didn’t bother to sit back down. He had played his part in Hosea’s plan and was ready to get some fresh air. “Well, I’ll leave you two to your business. I best be on my way.”

“It’s nice to know there are still some useful men in the world. Don’t be a stranger now.” Lillian gave him a coy little wave.

“Safe riding, Arthur.”

“Sure.” Arthur was feeling his whiskey by then, it made the city seem slightly more bearable, but at the cost of making him sweatier. Pulling himself back in his saddle, Arthur began the tedious process of riding out of town. It was slow going, but he tried to stay calm and enjoy his buzz.

It came as a surprise when he saw Dutch waiting for him past the bridges on the northwest side of town heading into the marsh. 

“Arthur!” Dutch pressed his horse forward and fell in alongside Arthur.

“Well, well, what brings you all the way out here, Dutch?”

“I thought I’d come by and see how you made out in the city. I trust you weren’t bewitched by all of the sights and sounds.”

“You don’t gotta worry about that. I couldn’t get outta there soon enough. I don’t know why anyone would want to live like that.”

“That’s my boy, Arthur! Half that city doesn’t know what an honest day’s work is! They’re a bunch of selfish, vapid snakes. Ready to bite each other and tear each other down the first chance they get. That’s no way to live.” Dutch sighed, stopping his rant before he got too swept up in it. “How’s Hosea managing in there?”

“Well enough, I guess. He’s tryin’ to swindle some lady who thinks she’s something important. She wants her coke fix without gettin’ it herself. Don’t make much sense to me.”

“That’s the city life, Arthur. Nobody can do anything for themselves anymore. And they like it that way.”

Arthur didn’t have to say much else while they rode into the swamps. Dutch went off on a tirade about city folk and their weak constitutions. Arthur agreed every so often, mostly paying attention to their surroundings. The dense undergrowth on the cypress trees was pretty, but he was watching out for gators, there were plenty of big ones around, but none seemed interested in the pair of riders.

“Seems fittin’ they’d build a city like that right on a stinkin’ swamp like this.” Arthur hoped to lighten the conversation before Dutch got himself too riled up.

“Ha! I’d take the swamp any day. At least the snakes and alligators don’t pretend like they don’t want to eat you.”

“Right.. Or the bugs.” The flies weren’t so bad while they were riding, but Arthur had felt a couple bites.

“Yes, or the bugs. Out here there’s a natural order where everyone, and everything, even the mosquitos can be true to themselves.”

“Well I’d rather be livin’ free somewhere that ain’t so damn hot.” He wiped his hand over his face, mopping up some sweat.

“We’re almost at the meadows. There’s always a nice breeze in the hills.”

“I sure hope so. I’m feelin’ right to puke.” That wasn’t much of an exaggeration. His stomach was starting to feel unsettled, and he was already sobering back up.

“You aren’t drunk are you?” Dutch laughed and gave him a concerned look.

“I had one drink.”

“Only one?”

“I ain’t fixin’ to go broke on fancy city whiskey. Don’t taste much different to me. Do you know they’re chargin’ a dollar a glass?”

“That’s because there’s idiots like you who are buying it.”

“Hmm. I guess.” He didn’t mention that he’d spent three times as much on a bowl of soup. He didn’t need to be ridiculed any further.

They rode in silence until they crossed the last bridge out of the marshes and into the rolling hills beyond. Arthur had been hoping that getting out of the stagnant swamps would help his churning stomach, but the feeling was worsening, he felt some gurgles and cramps in his guts.

“Feel that breeze, Arthur? Isn’t that nice?” Dutch turned and looked expectantly at Arthur’s reddened, shiny face.

“Well it ain’t worse.” They were getting close to Clemens Point, and that goal motivated him to try and ignore the pain in his belly.

“Let’s go around Rhodes and get you home and fed. You’ll feel better soon.”

“Can’t say I’ve got much of an appetite.” Arthur hesitated for a moment before he sighed. “I ate some already. I had some lobster bisque, I don’t think it’s sitting right with me.”

“Well, there it is. I wouldn’t trust anyone in that cesspool to cook anything.”

“It didn’t taste bad.”

“Far be it from me to be pessimistic, my dear boy, but I don’t think that matters much.” Dutch pressed his horse to go faster and called back to Arthur. “No sense in lollygagging, Arthur! Let’s get home!”

Arthur followed Dutch’s lead and urged his horse on. The faster pace meant a bumpier ride, jostling the already queasy man around even more. His stomach was twisting with pain, making it difficult to focus. He mostly let his horse guide herself, she was good at keeping on a road, especially when she could follow Dutch and The Count without having to worry about running into anyone or anything.

Saliva started filling Arthur’s mouth to the point he couldn’t keep swallowing it down. Twisting his head to the side he hawked up all that he could and spat as he rode. All at once he felt chills run down his spine, taking him from hot to cold and clammy in a matter of seconds. He hauled back on his reins, his vision briefly going blurry. “Whoa, girl!”

He was only a few minutes away from camp, but he could go no further. He hiccuped and spit out more saliva, stumbling down from his saddle, Arthur lost his balance and took a few quick, clumsy steps forward in an attempt not to faceplant on the ground. Gagging violently, he spewed up a thick, whitish-yellow liquid, splattering against the dirt and onto one of his boots. Arthur staggered forward, his stomach and throat burning up as the next wave started to overtake him. Clinging onto the tree trunk, his stomach convulsed again heaving up another mouthful of the bitter, fishy liquid into the long grass. Vomit gushed out of his nose and oozed into his mustache and beard, making a sticky mess of his face.

He heard the sound of another horse approaching, along with the sound of Dutch’s voice, but Arthur couldn’t try to actually listen to the man’s words. A few moments later he felt Dutch’s hand on his back, gently rubbing between his shoulder blades.

“Arthur, can you hear me? I’m here, it’s gonna be okay.”

His stomach was churning again, more painful than ever as he gagged and dry heaved, spitting out a long viscous string of saliva and bile. The cramp in his stomach turned his whole body tense as he retched again, puking up more yellowish and orange chunks of bisque. The force expelled more than just the contents of his upset stomach, but also his bowels as well. With a bit of gas and a sickly gurgle, Arthur felt a hot, runny mess spurt into the seat of his long johns, briefly pooling before it dripped down his shaky thighs.

“Arthur? Did you..” Dutch knew what had happened. If the sound wasn’t obvious enough, the accompanying smell was a dead giveaway. “Nevermind. It’s okay.. We’ll get you cleaned up soon.”

Arthur could hardly feel ashamed for shitting himself, he was still too sick. He was disgusted by the mess more than anything. He puked one last time, spitting up a bit of mucousy bile. Wiping his face with his sleeve, Arthur turned to Dutch. “I wanna walk the rest of the way.”

“Whatever you need, Arthur. Let’s cut through the woods, we can get you cleaned up in the lake and I’ll bring you some clothes. Tell me if you feel sick again.” Dutch looped an arm around Arthur’s shoulders and helped him walk, calling for their horses to trail along behind them.


End file.
